


Your Majesty

by wilddragonflying



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Abuse of italics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bastardization of show and book plots, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, blame fishy for this honestly, canon what canon? my canon now, nothing but filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: In a spectacularly irreverent blending of show and book canons as well as some Alternate Universe shit, Quentin is crowned High King, Eliot is his husband, Margo and Alice are their wives, and while Margo and Alice are off fucking, Eliot seduces Quentin.That's really all you need to know about this, honestly.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	Your Majesty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fishydwarrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishydwarrows/gifts).



> Why is it
> 
> That most of what I write solo
> 
> Turns into smut
> 
> Why
> 
> Anyway, on a more serious note: Both Quentin and Eliot are trans here, though Eliot's anatomy doesn't really come into the picture in this particular scene. Quentin uses male terms for female anatomy('cock' instead of 'clit' for example), and Eliot knows and respects this. Just a heads up before we get into the scene! If you feel like there's something else I should tag/mention, please leave me a (respectful) comment down below!

Quentin drags a hand across his face, scrambling to catch his crown before he accidentally knocks it off - again. “Fuck,” he mutters, settling it back into place with anxious hands, and nearly falling off of the dais when a voice comes from behind him. 

“Is this a bad time?”

“El,” Quentin breathes, unable to help the way his expression and tone turn relieved. “Thank fuck. I’m so sorry, today was just - “

“Q, hey, it’s fine.” Eliot’s smile is easy, his gait loose as he moves closer with long strides, reaching out to brush some of Quentin’s hair from his face. “You needed an excuse not to get married to some random girl, and Bambi even managed to turn it to our advantage, politically speaking. We’re safe from nefarious spouse-hunters now, and thanks to Penny and your would-be wife, we broke the Beast’s curse on the thrones. Now we just need to break his hold on the Wellspring.”

“Yeah, because that’ll be so easy,” Quentin sighs. “I don’t know, Eliot, I mean, I was kind of hoping I’d be High King, because who doesn’t want to be the main character, right? But the reality is…”

Eliot’s expression softens for a moment. “Overwhelming?” he suggests. 

Quentin snorts. “Yeah, overwhelming, let’s go with that.” He sighs heavily, then tries on a smile. “Where are Alice and Margo?”

Eliot smirks. “Bambi took the opportunity to try to convince our dear wife to consummate part of the marriage.”

 _That_ gets a laugh out of Quentin. “Really?” he asks, grinning. “And what, you’re here to try to convince me to join?”

“Close,” Eliot hums, “but no. I’m here to try to convince you to consummate _our_ part of this strange four-way marriage we’ve found ourselves in.” A gleam sparks in his eye, and before Quentin realizes what he’s doing, Eliot’s bowing, maintaining eye contact, and practically _purring_ , “Your majesty.”

Quentin all but feels the blood rushing to his cheeks, knows his eyes have gone wide and is vaguely mortified by the way his breath catches in his chest - but above all of that, he’s _too fucking turned on_ to care about much else. “Eliot - “

“ _Quentin,_ ” Eliot counters, smirk dancing about his lips as he straightens, steps smoothly into Quentin’s space. “Com on, you’re not going to deny your _husband,_ are you?”

Quentin feels himself sway into Eliot, makes himself sway back so that he can get out, “You don’t have to - “

“I _want_ to,” Eliot says, fierce enough that it surprises Quentin into shutting up, looking at Eliot with wide eyes. There’s a heat in Eliot’s gaze, one that sparks an answering fire low in Quentin’s gut, brings back memories of Brakebills South, fur and teeth and _skin and mouths_ \- 

And then Eliot’s mouth is on his again, here and now, and Quentin can’t help but moan, press into the kiss, give himself over to it, because really, what else is one supposed to do when Eliot Waugh kisses them? Push him away? _As if._

Quentin’s always been pliant, eager to please as soon as someone gets their hands on him, so when Eliot nudges him backwards, Quentin goes easily, is distantly aware that Eliot’s backing him up towards his throne. He sits down heavily when Eliot pushes at his shoulder, takes the brief separation of their mouths to catch his breath, his head spinning in a way that has to do with more than the lack of oxygen. “Jesus, El.”

Eliot chuckles, low and warm, leaning down for another kiss before he lowers himself to his knees, nudging Quentin’s apart and making space for himself. “Jesus, yourself,” he laughs, reaching up to skim his hands over Quentin’s chest, palms smoothing over his pecs before going lower, fingers hesitating over the button at his waistband as Eliot looks up, a question in his eyes that Quentin nods a fervent _yes_ to. He can’t help the quiet sound he makes as the backs of Eliot’s fingers brush the skin of his stomach. “I’m going to take my time, later,” he promises, voice a quiet murmur that echoes nonetheless in the silence of the otherwise-empty throne room. “When we’re in an actual bed. But right now, I _really_ cannot wait to get my mouth on you again, Q.”

His fingers never stop moving as he speaks, and by the time he says Quentin’s name, he’s got Quentin’s pants tugged down past his knees, has bared Quentin to his view. The touch of his hands over Quentin’s thighs is hot and electric, and one of Quentin’s hands flies up to cover his mouth and muffle his moan as Eliot presses in closer, wraps his hands around Quentin’s waist and pulls him to the edge of the throne. “ _El,_ ” Quentin breathes, his other hand petting clumsily through Eliot’s hair, fingers catching on the rough stones of his crown. 

Eliot hums, pleased, and pushes into Quentin’s touch only briefly before he leans in, and - The thing is, the thing that Quentin’s always liked best about Eliot is that when he wants something, he dives headfirst into trying to get it, and he applies that approach to sex. So, the moment he decides he’s done waiting to get his mouth on Quentin, he’s _moving,_ hands sliding to cup the curve of Quentin’s ass, nose brushing against the curls of Quentin’s groin as his tongue drags a hot stripe over his slit, curls over his cock and makes Quentin’s legs jerk as he swears. Quentin’s fingers tighten in Eliot’s hair, and Eliot makes an encouraging noise, pulling Quentin in closer to himself as he closes his lips around Quentin’s cock, jaw working fervently, relentlessly. 

Quentin _shouts_ when Eliot sucks, when one hand slides from Quentin’s ass inward, to gather some of his slick and use it for one finger, pressing against his hole, a delicious little pressure for Quentin to rock against, but not pressing in, not yet. Eliot pulls back, switches the angle of his wrist so he can rub Quentin’s cock with his thumb. “I need you to relax for me, baby,” he whispers, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of Quentin’s thigh. “I know what you want, but I can’t give it to you when you’re so tight and tense.”

Quentin swears again. “ _El,_ ” he whines. “Please, I want - “

“I know,” Eliot shushes him, thumb sweeping over his cock again and making Quentin’s thighs jerk. “I’ll get you there, baby, trust me. Just like Antarctica.”

“Little warmer this time,” Quentin jokes, breathless, and is rewarded with a laugh from Eliot before he leans in, licks over Quentin’s cock again. 

“Much warmer,” he agrees. There aren’t many words that pass between them after that, Eliot’s mouth occupied and Quentin too busy swearing breathlessly as Eliot coaxes him into relaxing, into letting Eliot rock one finger into Quentin’s hole, so he can crook it _just_ so and coax even more noises from Quentin, drive him closer and closer to the edge until Quentin finally soars over it, back arching as he comes, and then bowing as Eliot works him through the aftershocks. Quentin drags him into a messy kiss, groaning at the taste of himself on Eliot’s lips.

“Let me - “ he starts, reaching for Eliot’s clothes, and then pouts when Eliot pulls away from his grasp, chuckling.

“You can return the favor once we’re in an actual bed, Q,” he says, amused. He leans in, kisses the frown from Quentin’s lips. He takes Quentin’s hand in his (clean) one, pulls Quentin to his feet and helps him put his clothing back to right. “Only long enough to get us to bed,” he assures Quentin in a murmur. “I’m sure our darling wives are going to be just _dying_ to get our clothes off, High King Quentin the Screamer.”

“If that sticks, I’m going to have your head,” Quentin promises, without a hint of actual threat as he threads his fingers with Eliot’s and lets him lead them from the throne room.

They can figure out how the actual hell they’re supposed to rule a fantasy kingdom tomorrow.


End file.
